Page 11 of Scourge of the Shores
Danna reached over and pulled back the curtain made of palm tree bark. Sunlight flooded the hut. Ma groaned in discomfort.
“Pirates came. Refused ‘em, so they’re staying on the East side to make ship repairs before they be on their way,” Danna said.
She rolled a blanket and a small pillow into a tight circle and stuffed it into a pack that hung by the window. “Lucas is takin’ the first watch. I’ll be with Father and the others and makin’ sure those ship-lootin’ scumbags don’t steal nothin’.”
Ma cleared her throat. “Lucas not going with you?”
“No, Ma. Ain’t lookin’ to draw eyes on the graves. I’m only going in case them seadogs go sniffin’ where they shouldn’t. If I need Lucas, he’ll see the flare.” Danna stuffed some jerky and biscuits into the pack and slung a full skin of water around her neck.
“Danna,” Ma crooned.
Danna peered over her shoulder.
Ma’s nub pointed toward her. “You be safe, my girl.”
Danna nodded. “Always am, Ma.” She took a deep breath of stale air and went to the door. She opened it, letting the fresh breeze hit the sweat on her face and chest. “Ye want to step out? Take some fresh air?”
Danna’s question floated in the dark space. It had always been the same answer. She expected the same from her mother again, but hope made her ask the question anyway.
A quiet “No” lingered between them.
Danna bit her lip. Once again, defeated, she walked out and shut the door behind her without saying another word, knowing full well that she had left the curtain open against her mother’s wishes.
Night draped the island in shadow. The shore’s palm trees bent to the hush of the ocean’s wind, giving way to the jungle, where gnarled branches carved twisted shadows against the moonlit earth. Over the graves of dead pirate kings, moonflowers unfurled, their ghostly petals exhaling their fragrant lullaby. The goats had long quieted, herded inland, safe from the beast that haunted the tides.
From where Danna sat in the centuries-old tree that lined the graveyard, the warm glow of the village’s torches dotted the shore like distant orbs, flickering against the dark. The tree was her favorite childhood spot, except for the big boulder on the island’s north side, which looked out at the sea.
The branches of the centuries-old tree were wide, thick, and bunched together. The first Chadwick had trained them to grow in such a manner that his descendants could visit him and his sons once they passed to Tophet. The branches sat high in Danna’s time, and she could sleep there now. She pulled out her pillow from her sack, placed her head on it, and munched on some jerky. The air felt heavier, yet lighter on the lungs, up off the ground.
She rolled to look east with the graves spread north of the tree. Her mind drifted to the Pirate King Jaymes and his four men accompanying him to the shore that afternoon. She tore another piece of jerky between her teeth. The others had shrunk back when she spoke her name. Not Jaymes. His gaze sharpened—not with fear, but hunger. And not just for gold. But whatever he sought, he’d have to pry it from her cold, dead hands.
The day’s burdens weighed heavily in her chest, and no matter what Lucas said, those three ships were lost because of her decision. If she couldn’t protect the living, she would absolutely protect the dead. But she hoped she was wrong about the Pirate King and that any skirmish could be avoided. The island villagers were nearing a breaking point, unable to endure much more.
The moon was full overhead when she heard a twig snap. Her eyes popped open, and she scanned the island’s jungle. A white shirt stuck out like a lighthouse on a cloudy night. Just one shirt, though. She grabbed her extra knife, a short blade, not enough to kill but enough to blind. She sat up quietly, aimed it, and held it by the point, ready to throw.
The pirate was about to cross the threshold into the village. She sent the blade sailing past the pirate’s nose at his first toe across the clearing. The blade’s point stuck into the ground next to the boot.
A gritted “Sink me ship!” coursed over the clearing. The man stumbled backward with his hands up.
“I mean no harm,” he said loud enough for her to hear.
Danna jumped from her hiding spot on silent feet.
“Hands high, pirate,” she snapped, cocking her flintlock. The night swallowed the sound, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. He’d heard it. “Ye cross that line again, and I take the foot.”
The man chuckled. “I wanted to see if I could barter for some good island food.”
She scoffed at his silver-spun words; they weren’t fooling her. “At this hour?”
He walked into the clearing with his hands up. “White shirt, no weapons. I come in peace, surrenderin’ any ill will.”
“Ye ain’t scouting for pirate king gold?”
“No, let them rest in their graves.” He took a few more steps until Danna recognized him—the Pirate King from the shore.
“Jaymes, ain’t that right?” she asked.
His pearly whites glistened in the moonlight. “So, has my great name spread here at last?”
